


The Human Trap

by storyspinner70



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Biker Dean Winchester, Biker Sam Winchester, Blood and Violence, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Illegal Activities, M/M, Protective Sam Winchester, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24751915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyspinner70/pseuds/storyspinner70
Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester were new to being the power behind The Knights of Hell biker gang, but they weren't new to the violence and pain that went along with it. They were working for a better future, but that was going to take muscle and brain and a lot of blood. Nothing worthwhile ever changed in a single day, but when Dean doesn't come back from a simple gun drop, The Knights worry that nothing will ever be the same again.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 198
Collections: Wincest Reverse Bang





	The Human Trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluefire986](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluefire986/gifts).



**A/N:** I knew as soon as I saw this art that I realllllly wanted to write something for it. Luckily, I got it! I have taken liberties y'all. _So many liberties._ lol _Shrugs_ , what are you gonna do? The story's gotta story. If you haven't yet, make sure you check out the amazing art that inspired me so much. Click [here](https://bluefire986.livejournal.com/22806.html) or [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755752) or their name to visit [bluefire986's](https://bluefire986.livejournal.com/) page and just revel in the beauty of their art! But come back here! You gotta read our story, too! :D Title, like the inspiration for this story comes from Sons of Anarchy - specifically the song _Come Join the Murder_.

**The Human Trap**

“I don’t like this,” Dean muttered, surveying his surroundings through narrowed eyes. “I don’t like this at all.”

“Are you sure we’re at the right place?” Garth, like Dean, kept his voice low.

Dean rolled his eyes. “How many pet food processing plants you think there are in Topeka?”

Garth shrugged. “How many of them are there anywhere?”

Dean didn’t bother to reply. The words painted along the top of the nearest building - Crosswinds Industries - confirmed they were where the drop was supposed to take place but where was everyone?

Around them, it was silent and deserted. Sure it was the weekend, but places like this never shut down completely. Trucks with the company’s logo were parked neatly and silently in a row. The buildings that made up the complex cast shadows everywhere, patches of deep black even in the middle of the afternoon. Dean frowned. Anyone could be hiding in those shadows, and he and Garth wouldn’t know until it was too late.

Dean wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave, deal be dammed. Even the probie Garth was on alert as they moved quietly, step by step, inch by inch through the buildings.

Dean kept his gun steady, ready for anything, the weight of the knives at his back and ankle pressing heavier than they should have been against his flesh, clammy spots where their sheaths lay heavy against his skin.

He halted Garth with a silent hand to his upper arm, sliding the heavy duffel of weapons and ammo he was bringing for the initial deal from his own back to Garth’s. Garth nodded and they moved ahead, Dean rolling his shoulders, steadier with his new freedom of movement.

Dean hadn’t been happy when Castiel had requested a meeting with them. Anytime a member switched from one club to another, it was met with distrust and suspicion - if they lived long enough to switch at all, that was. But Castiel had been an Angel. They’d been warring with the Demons for generations. Him switching sides had almost prompted a club war like no one had ever seen - particularly since no one knew exactly why he switched.

Dean had turned him down at first, but Sam had talked him into taking the meeting. Not for the first time, Dean cursed Sam for being so goddamn irresistible. If he couldn’t pout something out of Dean he’d try to seduce him to get it. If that didn’t work, he’d demand it. They’d usually end up fighting it out at that point, but Dean rarely stuck to his guns, regardless of who won the fight.

He wished like fuck he had this time.

The Demons were an old and rich club and the Knights could use the influx of cash, but Dean had had misgivings from the start.

When Michael Morningstar stepped out of the shadows a few feet ahead of them, Dean knew he’d been right to.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted. “So nice of you to come. And right on time, too.”

Michael Morningstar was the older brother and right hand man to Lucifer Morningstar. No one knew if Lucifer was his given name or if he was just overly dramatic and trying to make a point, but he more than lived up to it either way.

Lucifer had been his father’s favorite and it showed. He did what he wanted when he wanted. He ran the Fallen Angels club with an iron fist and he had killed his own father to get it.

Dean would have rather cut off both his hands than do business with them.

“So who fucked us? Crowley or Castiel?”

“Does it matter?”

“Oh yeah, I’m going to need to know who to kill when this is over.”

“Oh,” Michael chuckled. “I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that.” He flicked his hand in front of him and more men stepped from the shadows.

Dean and Garth were surrounded.

“Shit,” Garth muttered.

“You know Sam won’t let this stand,” Dean commented.

“Ah, the Boy King,” Michael laughed. “We’re counting on it.”

“You did all this just to get Sam to take out the Demons?”

“That was just a nice bonus,” Michael said. “Imagine what will happen when Sam goes nuclear on an innocent club.”

Dean clenched his teeth but didn’t comment.

“You’ve been in our way for a long time.” Michael shrugged. “Now you won’t be.”

“Sam will find out who really killed me,” Dean spat.

“Oh, we’re not going to kill you, Dean.”

Dean narrowed his eyes.

“Well, probably.” Michael gestured to his men then turned back to Dean. “Trust me.”

Dean barked a laugh. “Sure thing, asshole. I’ll trust you.”

Michael smiled and tipped his stupid floppy hat. “I’ll see you around, Dean.”

“Not if I see you first,” Dean muttered.

“Move,” someone barked. A gun barrel jabbed Dean in the ribs, underscoring the order and making him stumble forward a step. Dean snarled but just got another sharp jab for his trouble.

Dean heard the rattling of the guns they’d brought then a dull thump and a grunt. When he looked back, he saw Garth hit the ground. He growled and started toward him but the gun in his ribs just dug in harder. Dean thought about struggling but there were too many of them.

A moment later, Dean was shoved into a room and the door slammed shut behind him. It took him a minute for his eyes to adjust to the sudden dimness. When they did, he saw he wasn’t alone.

Crowley lay in a heap in the corner, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. _Well, at least it looks like he didn’t betray us_ , Dean thought. Now he just had to stay alive long enough to tell Sam before Sam dismantled the Demons one by one and started a war with the wrong people.

The slightest scrape alerted Dean to someone else in the room.

“Well, hello there,” a deep, hissing voice said from somewhere behind Dean. “Welcome to Hell.”

“Alastair,” Dean greeted. “Fancy meeting you here.” Alastair wasn’t affiliated with any particular club; he was much more interested in spreading his particular set of skills where ever he was the most needed. He was hedonistic, capricious and cruel. Clubs didn’t use him very often, too afraid he’d turn on them when he was done.

“Who else would they bring in for Hell’s Torturer, Dean?” Alastair said, rubbing his fingers over the patch on Dean’s chest that said just that.

“Who, indeed?”

Alastair smiled, a seductive, slow thing that set Dean’s teeth on edge. “Let’s get started.”

**

Garth’s body was dropped ten miles outside of Lawrence two hours later. When Bobby found him on a routine run, he gathered Rufus and Ellen and discussed maybe not even telling Sam at all.

In the end, they knew they had to. They were not looking forward to what was going to happen when he realized not only was the probie dead, but Dean was nowhere to be found. 

Sam quietly ordered them to bury Garth and set up his wife and kids any place they wanted to go. The soft snick of his office door closing was terrifying.

**

Sam was deep into planning his attack on the Demons when his phone rang. He ignored it until it rang three more times in quick succession.

“What?” he snapped.

“We’ve got Dean,” Jo said quickly.

Sam stood up quickly. “Is he alive?”

“Barely,” she said grimly. “We picked him up five miles outside of Topeka.” She paused for a moment. “He was walking and talking but someone did a hell of a number on him. He passed out as soon as we got him in the truck.”

“Get here fast.”

“You got it, boss.”

**

“I was just tortured for eight hours straight, Sammy.” Dean intoned. “I just want to sleep.” His voice was rough.

“We need to call Dr. Robert,” Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

“No we don’t. Just give me some of those pain killers he keeps us supplied in and I’ll be just fine.” Dean paused for a split second. “You’re going to need to sew some things up for me after I rest,” he said. “Make sure you got a lot of thread handy,” Dean joked wryly.

Sam wasn’t laughing.

He stood quietly as Dean pulled away from him, reaching out instinctively when Dean swayed but didn’t stop him from making his way to their bedroom. Sam went to grab the pain killers and then followed.

He found Dean draped across the bed, boots untied but still on. Sam grimaced at the thought of his brother’s broken ribs and how hurt he must be to not even be able to get his shoes off.

He roused Dean enough to take the pills and then stepped out of the room to deal with things and to calm down once Dean was knocked back out.

Bobby stepped up to him and rested a worn hand on Sam’s back.

“I want Morningstar dead,” Sam stated.

“Sam,” Bobby started.

“I want him dead,” Sam repeated slowly.

“You know what that will do,” Bobby said.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” Sam replied.

Bobby nodded and motioned for the boys to follow him out.

Sam yelled after them. “Bring me Alastair. I want him alive. He’s mine!”

Sam headed back to the bedroom and Dean. He grabbed Dean’s feet and carefully maneuvered him all the way onto their bed, willfully ignoring the pain wreathing Dean’s face and the pained sounds he was making.

Sam eased off the boots Dean had been trying to take off, stopping when he saw they were full of blood and Dean’s socks were just stuck to the bottoms of his feet.

He gingerly peeled them away from the soles of Dean’s feet and had to clench his teeth against the need to vomit. Dean’s feet were a mass of cuts and dried blood. He had clearly used his socks as a pitiful cushion as he walked, stressing his broken ribs in a bid to tie his shoes to keep them from sliding too much.

Stepping out of the room again, Sam leaned against the wall. Dean walked at least five miles before the girls had found him. Five miles.

Sam murmured an apology to Dean and called Dr. Robert anyway. If he were lucky Dean would sleep through the whole thing. Grabbing a bucket of water, a rag and a couple towels, Sam headed back into their room.

He steeled his jaw and worked quickly and efficiently. It wasn’t the first time he’d patched Dean up and it wouldn’t be the last. People liked to joke about Sam being the brains and Dean the brawn - the braver (or more stupid, depending on how you looked at it) inevitably reminiscing about how Dean had always been Daddy’s blunt instrument and Sam his fine blade.

They weren’t wrong. It had always been that way and it continued that way after Dean and Sam took over after their father’s murder - a murder that they’d attributed to Morningstar but had no proof to back it up.

But Sam had never liked insolence, and he had never been one to suffer fools gladly. Word spread that Dean might be a junkyard dog when it came to Sam, but Sam was no different. Murmurs quieted quickly after that.

Sam moved carefully to cut off the rest of Dean’s ruined, blood stained clothes. He gave them to one of the girls to burn, freshened up the now filthy water and replaced the washcloth.

Dean’s belly and chest were littered with razor thin cuts and bruises of all sizes. Stab wounds and burn marks oozed across his skin. One of his ribs pushed out against Dean’s skin.

Sam took a shaking breath and felt tears run down his cheeks. He had always been one to cry, but only when it had to do with Dean. Only Dean could break his heart like this. No one else. Not even his Daddy had ever had that much hold over Sam.

Dean’s wrists and ankles were abraded and bleeding, and it was clear he’d struggled a lot in the time he’d been missing. Sam finished cleaning Dean as quickly as possible, carefully turning Dean to his side to deal with the deep whip marks across his brother’s back and legs and ass.

Afterward, Sam simply stood next to the bed while Dean slept fitfully, watching as Dean’s brow crinkled in pain and his fists clenched and unclenched, his fingernails a perfect fit for the crescent wounds in his palms.

He didn’t move, not until Dr. Robert came and needed his help to hold Dean securely so he could suture the deeper wounds and try to set his rib back into place then bind Dean’s chest to keep it there.

Dean cried out, but the drugs kept their hold on him long enough for the doctor to finish his work. He’d given Dean an IV and told Sam it would keep him under for at least a full day to give his body some time to heal. He’d left then, shoving medicine and ointment and directions into Sam’s hand on his way out.

It took Sam another hour or so to move again. When he did it was to check the instructions the doc had left and to begin his plan for Alastair. He was going to regret the day he’d ever touched Sam Winchester’s brother.

**

When Dean woke up everything he had hurt. His left eye was nearly fully open and he felt like he could breathe easier. He could feel the familiar pull and stretch of stitches in his skin and he knew that Dr. Robert had been by. He raised his hand to rub at his forehead and that was confirmed by the IV in the back of his hand.

“Sam,” he called, but his voice was weaker than he’d hoped it would be. Screaming must be harder on a throat than he’d thought. Either someone heard him, though, or Sam really did have special powers because it wasn’t five minutes until his brother appeared.

“Dean, you shouldn’t be up yet.”

“Yeah, well, when do I ever do what I’m supposed to?”

“Never?”

“That’s right, Sammy baby. I’m an…” Dean’s breath caught as he tried to sit up. It was painful in a way he’d rarely dealt with. “…an enigma,” he finished.

Sam stood propped against the doorway and watched his brother struggle for a moment. “You’re an idiot, is what you are,” he finally said, marching over to Dean and helping him sit upright.

“I love you too, Sammy.”

Sam held Dean a little forward, and listened to him grunt in pain as Sam leaned over him to grab the incline pillow they had just for these situations. Well, it had started out for these situations.

“Did you ever clean the come off that?” Dean whispered, his voice straining the more he tried to use it.

“Yes, Dean.”

“Just checking.”

“You want to try to eat?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded, but cupped his throat, a signal to Sam to get something easy to swallow.

Sam got a sorrowful look on his face but nodded and left the room.

He came back with a bowl of soup, some soft bread, some water and some throat spray they’d used last time Sam got sick.

It helped, but not a lot. Dean ate all the soup and most of the bread.

Sam took the dishes back to the kitchen and returned with a notebook and Dean’s tablet. He gave them to Dean and settled carefully onto their bed. “What happened, Dean?”

Dean opened his mouth but then grabbed the paper and pen.

_Michael Morningstar was lurking in the shadows when Garth and I showed up for the exchange._

Dean smiled wryly as he showed Sam what he wrote.

“Fucking Morningstar. We figured as much. I sent the boys out to take care of them. They had a pretty good plan. They should be back soon, but you know as well as I do it’s hard to tell how these things will go down.” 

Dean nodded.

“How did Alastair get you?”

_We were surrounded. They killed Garth and shoved me into some room and locked the door. Crowley was on the floor, dead. Alastair was there._

“Well at least I don’t have to fight the Demons, too.” Sam paused. “Or do you think they were in on it and got double crossed?”

_I guess they could have been, but I don’t think Crowley would have been there if they were. He’s not that stupid. He’d have known better._

“True. Okay, I’m going to see about sending a message to the other clubs. Let them know what happened and that they’re not to give the Morningstars or Alastair any quarter if they somehow get past our boys.”

_What are you going to do with the other members of the Fallen Angels?_

“ _If_ any of them are left alive, they’ll have a choice - switch allegiances or die.”

_You know they aren’t going to betray their allegiance._

“I know.”

_What about Alastair?_

“They’re bringing him here - alive. I’m going to kill him,” Sam stated baldly.

Dean started scribbling on the paper again but there was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?”

“Castiel is here to see you, boss. You want to see him?”

Dean looked up at that.

“Probably just going to assure us they had nothing to do with what happened,” Sam told Dean. He raised his voice a bit to be heard through the door. “I’ll be right there.”

Dean tried to get Sam’s attention but he was already starting for the door. Annoyed, Dean threw the notebook at Sam’s back.

“Ow, what Dean?”

“Alastair,” Dean croaked.

“Dean, I know,” Sam said, coming back to sit on the side of their bed.

“No,” Dean started. “He’s…”

“Dean stop talking. I know exactly how dangerous he is. I’ll be careful. I swear to you.” Sam stared right into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, he didn’t just hurt you, he tortured you. He’s going to die. You understand? There’s not one thing that would save him now.”

Sam leaned in close to Dean. “If it takes me fifty years, I’m going to find him and I’m going to kill him. By the time I’m done, there won’t be a club anywhere on this planet that will shelter him and he'll have nowhere to hide from me.”

Dean slumped back against his pillows, tired and in pain and just done with everything.

Sam followed for a kiss, feather light and spindly to avoid hurting Dean’s split lip. “Be back soon.”

Dean slept, unease filling his gut.

**

Sam didn’t like Castiel much - he had no respect for someone who betrayed his colors, particularly if no one knew why. But the Demons were an old and venerated club and Crowley, for all he was an asshole and liar whenever it suited him, was a smart and capable President.

Dean had had his reservations about even taking the initial meeting, but Sam had a keen interest in expanding their reach and had persuaded Dean to see his side. It had taken a knife to Dean’s throat, but he went along with Sam just like he always had. Sam regretted it now.

Castiel stood in the middle of Sam and Dean’s office, his body still but his eyes wary and constantly looking for threats.

Sam nodded to his Secretary and Kevin returned it and left the room.

“Something I can do for you?” Sam asked.

“We just wanted to make sure you knew we had nothing to do with this,” Castiel said quickly.

“Didn’t you?” Sam gestured toward a chair, but remained standing.

“We didn’t. Crowley would have never gone himself if we’d been planning to double cross you.”

“Or maybe that’s just what you want us to think,” Sam mused. “Crowley always did have more balls than brains.”

Castiel grimaced but said nothing.

“Who’s taking over now?”

“Rowena,” Castiel answered reluctantly.

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “His mom’s back, huh?”

“Yeah, and she’s not happy that her favored son is dead, let me tell you.”

“I imagine not,” Sam said. “Alright, tell her I’ll expect her to meet with me after I take care of the Fallen Angels.”

“She expected as much,” Castiel paused as if he were considering his next words. “She wanted me to tell you she’s always had a soft spot for you boys. She says that hasn’t changed.”

Sam nodded. “It’s appreciated. Tell her to bring some of that tea I love so much when she comes.”

Castiel nodded and stood. He was almost at the door when Sam spoke again.

“Why did you switch, anyway? No one seems to know.”

Castiel paused with his hand on the doorknob. “You do the craziest things for love,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. God knew he had and inevitably would again.

**

Alastair came in like he did everything else - the hard way. It had taken nearly a week for the boys to take down the Fallen Angels and find Alastair. None of the Fallen lived and between them and Alastair, they’d lost six Knights.

They’d brought Alastair to Sam in chains, and he’d dropped him into the basement while they buried their dead and made arrangements for their families. Dean, who was hobbling around now doing what he could, put the no business call out for the next few days so people had a short time to mourn the ones they’d lost.

Sam made his necessary appearances, but he didn’t have time for mourning. Not yet. They’d found Dean’s favorite gun in Alastair’s things and Sam had pressed it into Dean’s hand, raising his hand to the still sore lump on the side of Dean’s face where Alastair had beaten Dean with his own gun.

Dean smiled and pushed the gun back to Sam. “You’ll have to use your own knives,” Dean said, his voice still gravel and dust and strain. “I don’t know where mine are.”

Sam nodded and walked away. Bobby, Rufus and Kevin stood outside the dirt cellar where Sam had thrown Alastair, but none of them entered. This was for Sam alone.

Dean smiled at them and walked away, turning plans over in his head for how to best take care of the widows and children the fallen Knights had left behind.

It was almost dawn of the next day before Sam emerged from the cellar, his skin painted in blood and bone and bits of flesh. He’d removed his cut and his shirt to allow for freer movement, and there was something wild and dangerous in his eyes Dean had never seen before.

Dean kissed him just like that, gore and blood soaking through to his own skin. Sam smelled of copper, piss and ozone. He smelled of satisfaction and righteousness. 

“I know you wanted to,” Sam said.

Dean nodded. Of course he had. But he was still healing and anything could have happened with Alastair before he was well enough to take his own revenge.

“I had to,” Sam pressed.

“I know, Sammy. I know.”

And he did. It was the way with them. They may have been born four years apart, but they were beings inhabited by one soul, carved deep and halved between the two of them - nothing affected one without the other knowing it, feeling it.

Dean lead Sam to the shower, the two of them silent - contentment and triumph soaking into the humid spaces between them. Dean cleaned Sam, thorough and gentle in the stillness. Sam leaned, his eyes trained on the drain, watching tissue and pulp circle and disappear until the water ran clean.

“You okay?” Dean said as he dried Sam afterwards.

“I’d do anything for you,” Sam breathed.

“I know, Sammy,” Dean said. “And I’d burn the world down for you.”

Sam kissed him then, something soft and tragic and everlasting.

“There’s no need for that,” Sam whispered.

“We’ll see,” Dean said. “We’ll see.”


End file.
